Chapter 2

CHAPTER IVThe Winning of PeterRegularly twice a week Edgar rode into London and waged strenuous warfare with Gaspard's most promising pupils. So earnest was his purpose and so able the tuition that he made rapid progress, and presently, as he grew in strength and stature, Gaspard was hard put to it to find pupils either ready or able to oppose him.Indeed, Gaspard soon learned to turn the visits of the young esquire to good account. Oftentimes knights, and even nobles, desirous of obtaining a little private practice before setting out for the wars, were attracted to the school by the reputation of its founder; and on these occasions, instead of wielding the sword himself, Gaspard preferred to call Edgar in and set his pupil to work, contenting himself with administering instruction and reproof as the combat proceeded. To being made use of in this manner Edgar raised not the smallest objection. The heavier and the more desperate the encounter, the greater, he felt, was his chance of onward progress.It was some twelve months after his visit to Gaspard's school that an adventure befell which influenced considerably Edgar's after career. It had been his habit, when he had stayed unusually late, to take a short cut to the open country through the poorer quarter at the eastward end of the city. The denizens of its narrow alleys and filthy courts were indeed a fierce and lawless crew, but Edgar, in the reliance born of his hard-won prowess with the sword, cared not one straw whether or no his way might lie through the haunts even of criminals and desperadoes. Certain it is that they never ventured to molest him.But one day, as he was cantering along an alley just wide enough to give free passage to a mounted man, he heard, as he passed the entrance to a narrow court, a sudden burst of piercing screams. Turning his steed and clattering into the court, Edgar surprised a group of rough-looking men crowding round a lad or young man who was being most cruelly beaten by one of their number. The lad was thin and frail and half-starved looking, and his assailant was a burly ruffian of the most brutal type. The lad's screams so worked upon Edgar that, without a moment's hesitation, he urged his horse right amongst the group of men, and, by causing it to kick and plunge violently, scattered them in all directions. The lad's tormentor he treated to a heavy blow with the flat of his sword, just as he was disappearing, scowling horribly, through an open doorway close by.Dismounting, Edgar hastily assisted the lad to rise, and then for the first time saw that he was a cripple. One of his legs was apparently somewhat shorter than the other, and the limb itself was partially withered."Come, lad, let me take thee to thy home," said Edgar gently. "These brutes shall molest thee no more.""Thank you, sir," gasped the boy gratefully, as he tried to struggle to his feet. "But I have no home save this court. I fear, too, that I cannot stand.""Tell me which is thy house. I will carry thee and lay thee on thy bed.""This is where I live when he will let me," said the lad, indicating the house into which his assailant had disappeared. "But do not tarry here, sir, or thou wilt be attacked. Quick, I hear them calling to one another, and if thou wouldst escape alive, thou must go at once.""Nay, lad, I cannot leave thee thus. After the rough shaking I have given them I fear the ruffians will illtreat thee worse than before. Come, I will mount and carry thee out of this den before me."Springing into the saddle, Edgar stooped and lifted the lad, placing him in the saddle before him. Then, sword in hand, he rode down the court straight to the entrance, where he could see men gathering armed with knives, clubs, and stones. A volley of missiles sang through the air as he approached, and, bending before the storm, Edgar charged full into the enemy. The men scattered as he bore down upon them, some dodging into doorways and others throwing themselves down flat against the walls. But as he passed, knives darted out from this side and that, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Edgar could avoid them. Emerging into the alley he found it thick with men hurrying to the scene. The whole district seemed to have been aroused, and the instant he appeared a howl of execration went up, followed almost instantly by another and heavier volley of stones.Setting spurs to his horse, Edgar again darted full at the crowd. The men were now too numerous to avoid him, and a dozen were flung headlong to the ground, whilst several more fell back with heads ringing from blows given sharply with the flat of the sword. Though bleeding from several cuts inflicted by the stones, Edgar had almost won through to safety when suddenly, just as he was striking at a man who had tried to hamstring his horse on his right, a ruffian on his left, more determined than his fellows, sprang close up and buried a dagger in the animal's side. The poor beast gave a convulsive spring and then sank to the ground where it lay writhing in agony. As the horse fell beneath him, Edgar took the cripple lad in his arms. It needed but a glance to tell him that his horse was doomed, and his ears told him as surely that his own life was in equal peril did he not make good his escape without an instant's loss of time.A closed door was by him, and he kicked it open with one foot. Springing in, he closed it after him. The sound of the shrieking horde outside was momentarily deadened, but, as he rushed along the passage to the back of the house, the door flew violently open again, and a wave of sound with a note so fierce and cruel swept in that most men, even in those martial days, would have been completely unnerved.A door led from the passage into a yard at the back of the house, and through this Edgar sped with his burden as rapidly as he could. The yard was separated from the next by a low wall, and over this he pressed, making for the door at the back of the house opposite to him. This door, however, was fast, and was too strongly made to be readily battered down; so without a moment's hesitation Edgar sprang at the single-shuttered window on the ground floor. Placing the cripple lad down for a moment, he seized a corner of the shutter with both hands, and, exerting all his strength, tore it bodily away. Flinging it to the ground with a clatter, he again lifted the cripple lad, placed him on the sill, and leaped up after him. Not until then did he pause to glance inside the room, but now he saw that it contained four men, who had evidently been drinking and playing at cards when disturbed by the sudden wrenching of the shutter from off its hinges.They were rough-looking men, and stared fiercely, albeit with some alarm, at the two figures perched upon the window sill."Who are ye?" challenged one in a rough and threatening tone. "Speak--what want ye?"Edgar would have retreated had there been time, but already some of his pursuers were dropping over the low wall behind, shouting in fierce exultation as they saw their prey almost within their grasp. In another moment or two he would have to defend himself in the rear, whilst his front was threatened by these four men, who looked as ripe for mischief as any of the ruffians closing in behind. Desperate measures alone could save him.Whispering to the cripple to cling to his back and so free both arms, Edgar flung his legs over the sill, sprang into the room, and dashed for the door. Two of the men drew their knives and made as though to stop him, but Edgar, who still carried his sword naked in his hand, instantly attacked them. Two rapid thrusts from his practised hand and the men fell back, shrieking and snarling, leaving him free to pass unmolested through the door and down a passage into another alley on the farther side.Edgar's exertions in running and climbing, burdened by the cripple lad, had been so great that he felt he must at once find a refuge, even if only a temporary one, or resign himself to selling his life as dearly as he could. Eagerly he glanced up and down the alley. At one end was a blank wall, and at the other were a number of men, who raised a shout the instant they caught sight of him. In front were what appeared to be the backs of a number of solidly-built warehouses, and these, Edgar felt, could and must provide his only refuge.The lowest windows were too high to be reached, and the doors were unusually strong, doubtless owing to the poverty of the neighbourhood. There was, however, no choice open, so Edgar again put the lad down and turned to the nearest door.Throughout the flight the cripple lad had not spoken once, but now, noticing perhaps how his rescuer panted, and how their escape seemed as far off as ever, he found his tongue."Leave me behind, sir. Thou canst not escape burdened with me. Seek thine own safety. What need for both to perish?""I cannot leave thee, lad, once I have taken the task upon me. Fear not; while I still possess a sword I will never lose hope."As he spoke Edgar drove the blade of his sword through the top panel of the door, tore it out, and again and again drove it back. Then with the hilt he hammered the splintered woodwork inwards with quick sharp blows until a hole gaped the full length and breadth of the panel."Now, lad, thine escape at least is assured. Come; I am going to pass thee through this hole." Lifting the lad, Edgar thrust him through the cavity and lowered him gently down. And not one whit too soon, for the advance guard of the men from the end of the alley and those who had followed him through the houses was now upon the scene. Making a sudden rush at the nearest of them, Edgar wounded two and momentarily drove the rest headlong back. Then retreating as suddenly as he had advanced, he sprang to the broken door and swung himself quickly through the gap.Inside he found himself in a dark passage, between stacks of goods piled to the ceiling. Followed by the cripple, who had awaited his coming, and who could now limp slowly along, he traversed the passage and mounted some steps to what appeared to be the inhabited part of the building. In a minute or two he came to the door of a room, inside which he could hear the sound of laughter and the clink of cups and platters. Here at least seemed hope of succour.It was indeed high time, for the noise of axes and hammers pounding at the outer door and the yells of the savage mob outside reverberated threateningly along the passage. In a minute or two the remnants of the door must give way and allow them free ingress. Already some of the cut-throats might have ventured singly through the gap and be stealing along in the darkness.Opening the door without ceremony, Edgar pressed eagerly in, followed by the lad. The sight which met them, fresh from the hurly-burly, seemed strange in its dissimilarity, and almost made them momentarily doubt the reality of what they had gone through. The room was comfortably furnished and brightly lit, and at a large table in its centre sat a merchant, his wife, and several daughters at supper. All rose to their feet, as with a single impulse, as Edgar, panting and blood-streaked, and with a naked and reddened sword in his hand, strode impetuously in."Sirrah, what is this?" cried the merchant hastily. "What dost thou in my dwelling?""To seek aid. We are fugitives," panted Edgar."From the law? Come not to me for succour, but begone!""Nay, we flee from bands of thieves and cut-throats. Even now they are doubtless pressing in at thy broken door. Summon aid, for our need is sore.""What--what is it thou art saying? Bands of cut-throats entering my house! Thou hast led them upon us, and we are ruined. What defence have I against such ruffians?"Edgar leaned upon his sword and panted. His exertions had been tremendous, but a few moments' breathing space would, he knew, do much to restore him."They are stealing along the passage, sir. I hear them," whispered the cripple. "They are fierce and stubborn when once they are roused, and fear the Justice and his men but little. I know them well.""Come, sir," said Edgar, lifting himself upright. "The cut-throats are even now stealing along yon passage, and----"Shrill cries of alarm from the merchant's wife and daughters interrupted him, and turning hastily round, Edgar saw that two or three savage-looking figures were even now actually at the door. The merchant snatched a knife from the table, and, though pale and trembling, moved towards the door, as though prepared to defend his womenfolk to the last.With a sickening shock Edgar realized his responsibility in drawing the ruffians in pursuit of him into the home of a peaceful and innocent merchant. Though he was the one they sought, it was not to be supposed for a moment that the merchant's family would, even though he gave himself up, remain unmolested. Furious with himself, and desperate to defend the innocent from the consequences of his thoughtlessness, Edgar sprang through the doorway upon the ruffians who were gathering there.His sword rose and fell with the rapidity and unerring precision he had learned in so many hard-fought encounters at Gaspard's school, and in the space of a few seconds three lay wounded upon the ground and the others were in full flight. More men were stealing up behind, but at the screeching of the wounded and the headlong flight of the remainder they too turned and hastily retreated. For some distance Edgar followed them up, and, by sundry thrusts at the hindmost, sent them racing down the stairs to the passage through the warehouse. Here he stopped, for the way was dark, and he could not know but that many might be lurking among the bales, ready to spring out as he passed by, and, by stabbing him in the back, render themselves masters of the merchant's dwelling.Returning to the door of the room, Edgar beckoned to the merchant, who was engaged in calming the fears of his wife and daughters, to come outside for a moment."Canst not fetch aid?""How dare I leave my wife and daughters, young sir? At any moment thou mayst be overcome, leaving them at the mercy of these ruffians.""Nay, if thou wilt give me a lighted lantern fixed upon a short pole, I will, I promise thee, rid thy house of these cut-throats until such time as thou canst bring help. But I cannot fight to advantage in the dark.""Thou shalt have the lanthorn. See thou keep'st thy promise."The lantern was brought, and bearing it high up with his left hand, and holding his sword in his right, Edgar returned along the way he had come, searching for any trace of lurking foes. He encountered none until he had nearly reached the broken door, but here he found them gathered in force, and had to make another attack. His determined front and darting sword, however, quickly cowed the men, and after a very short struggle they gave back, and, rushing for the door, fought their way out in absolute panic.Edgar did not trouble to follow up his advantage, but contented himself with placing his lantern where its light would shine upon the broken door, sitting down himself in a shadow and resting, while he watched and listened.Half an hour passed away without any change. He could tell his pursuers still lurked outside, but not once did they dare to return to the attack. Then he heard cries of alarm and the sound of rapid footsteps. A moment or two later a face appeared at the broken door, and he recognized the merchant."Is all well within?" he called breathlessly."All is well," cried Edgar, coming forward."God be praised!" cried the merchant in a voice of deep relief. "I have brought an officer and ten men, and at the sight of us the vagabonds made off.""'Tis well. We are safe from attack now.""Did the ruffians molest thee?""Nay. And now, sir, I must make the best of my way back to my home at Castle Wolsingham without loss of time. But before I go I pray thee forgive me for the alarm I have caused thee and the ladies of thy household. Thou know'st 'twas all done in the heat and extremity of the moment, and wilt excuse my thoughtlessness.""I cannot regret aught that has gained me the acquaintance of one so gallant," cried the merchant warmly. "Come with me, for I am sure the ladies will desire an opportunity to thank thee for themselves."The gratitude of the merchant and his wife and daughters, now that their alarm had subsided, was very great, and they united in praising Edgar for what they termed his bravery. But Edgar laughed at them, and would have no such term applied to what he called an afternoon's useful practice with the sword. One destined to the trade of arms, he disclaimed banteringly, must regard such a brush as of no more moment than the merchant's assistants did the measuring of a bale of cloth. But the merchant's daughters would not be denied, and showed their admiration of the young esquire by pressing food and dainties upon him, and by washing and tending the cripple lad, the unhappy cause of all the disturbance.An offer of the loan of a horse gave Edgar an excuse to be gone and to escape from irksome thanks and embarrassingly bright eyes. So as soon as they had finished tending the cripple lad, whose name they soon found out to be Peter, he bade them all goodbye, and, mounting the steed and taking Peter up behind him, set off for Wolsingham once more.His strange and exciting adventure had ended in the loss of a horse and the winning of a lad. How the latter was to be provided for, Edgar knew no more than he knew, when he set out in the morning, that he would return saddled with such a dependent. It was all very strange, but his mind was fully made up that he could not readily part with a lad for whom he had risked and ventured so much.CHAPTER VThe FracasIt was late when Edgar reached the vicinity of Wolsingham, and, preferring to obtain Geoffrey Fletcher's permission before he brought Peter into the castle, he left him for the night at the farmhouse of one of the tenants on the Wolsingham lands. He then rode on to the castle, and, learning that Geoffrey was still up, made his way to him, and related in detail all that had befallen that eventful afternoon. Geoffrey was concerned at the loss of the horse, but made little of the difficulty of the cripple lad. He could, he said, easily find employment for him among the tenantry if he found it impossible to take him into service within the castle. The latter would depend upon his inspection of the lad on the morrow. He congratulated Edgar warmly upon coming out of so serious a fracas with a whole skin, and strongly advised him, if he were still bent upon continuing his lessons with Gaspard, to choose a more public route until such time as the affair was likely to have been forgotten.During the homeward journey, Edgar had learned from Peter all that he could tell him of his life and parents. As he had expected, the lad's parents were both dead--his mother but a few months since--and he had only been allowed shelter in the house where his parents had lived by the kindness of one of the women of the place. Her husband, however, was of another mind, and, finding that the boy could give nothing in payment, had turned him out of the house.Again and again he had stolen back, however, and the man's wrath had increased beyond measure as he found him there time after time, until it ended in the more than usually brutal beating which Edgar was fortunately just in time to prevent becoming something worse. Of relations, Peter had none--that he knew of; and without help, sympathy, or hope he would in all probability, if he had survived and had remained in those evil surroundings, have drifted imperceptibly into evil and vicious courses.From this Edgar's intervention had saved him, and though as yet he did not realize all that it meant, he was deeply grateful for the timely succour.On the morrow Edgar took Peter in to Geoffrey, and then and there he was placed in charge of the armourer, who had for some time been wanting a boy to work his bellows. With healthy surroundings, good food, and fair treatment, he soon lost much of his frail and ill-nourished appearance, and but for his infirmity would in time have passed muster with other youths of his rank and station. Indeed, even his infirmity gradually lessened, until at last his limp, though still noticeable, marred his appearance rather than his usefulness.The recollection of the stirring scenes they had been through together always remained a bond of union between Edgar and Peter the armourer's lad, and the desire to aid and the desire to serve remained with them even after months and years had passed by. If Edgar wanted someone to go on an errand, it was Peter who was only too delighted to go; and if Peter had ever any desire beyond his work, it was always to Edgar that he came for advice or permission. If anything, the bond between them increased with the lapse of time, and it became a recognized thing in the castle that Peter was the special protégé and retainer of Edgar Wintour.Three or four years passed without any change of note taking place in the affairs of the castle. Then its lord, Sir John Chartris, returned from the wars, and an alteration was made that had a considerable influence in the lives of more than one of its inmates. Sir John had previously paid several visits to his home but had soon departed, for he was constantly campaigning in Flanders, the south of France, or elsewhere. On this occasion he returned alone, for his esquire had recently been knighted, and had left him to take service under another banner.As soon as the news that the office of personal esquire to Sir John was vacant became known, the excitement and rivalry between Aymery Montacute, Roland Mortimer, Robert Duplessis, Philip Soames, and Edgar became intense. That such a contingency was likely soon to arise had been known for some time, and each of them had nursed within himself the secret hope that he might be the fortunate one and follow his master to the wars. Rivalry had always existed between them, but naturally this increased tenfold at the thought that a selection must soon be made, for Sir John had so far steadily refused to take with him more than one esquire.In prowess with weapons, both on foot and on horseback, Aymery, Roland, and Edgar were generally considered to be about equal. But this estimate was based on their performances in the castle courtyard and gymnasium, and little account, if any, was taken of the fact that Edgar always wore full armour, and, more even than this, wore his vizor down in those encounters. His comrades, however, had become so used to meeting him in this fashion, and made so little of it beyond a few half good-humoured gibes at his supposed dislike for cuts and bruises, that they overlooked the heavy handicap under which he laboured. Edgar, however, had not forgotten it, and resolved that when a trial was made to qualify one of their number for the coveted position, he would fight unencumbered, in the hopes of being able easily to overcome all his opponents.The lessons he had learned at Gaspard's, too, would then very largely come into play for the first time. Several of the best strokes he had there learnt and practised he never used at Wolsingham, partly because he did not wish to accentuate the rivalry that already existed by easily worsting his comrades, and partly because he had had from the first a vague idea that a knowledge of new modes of attack or defence, about which they knew nothing, might prove useful to him in the days to come.Several times the rivalry between him and one or two of his comrades had led perilously near to an open quarrel; but Edgar so far had, by the exercise of tact and a certain amount of forbearance, generally managed to keep the peace. Twice, however, he had had high words with Aymery and Roland over the rough manner in which they had treated Peter when sending him on their errands. Even this had blown over, though it remained an understood thing that if anyone wanted to annoy Edgar it was a safe and sure plan to bully the cripple lad.A few weeks after Sir John's return home, it leaked out that it was likely that he would take part in an expedition which was being dispatched to Guienne under the leadership of the Earl of Derby. Much was hoped for from this expedition, and it seemed certain that those fortunate ones who took part in it would be in a fair way towards winning much renown. It happened also that the greater part of the lands to which Sir John's ward, Beatrice d'Alençon, was heiress, lay not far from the probable scene of the expedition, and presently the further news transpired that Sir John contemplated taking her with him, accompanied by his elder daughter, Gertrude, with the object of seizing an early opportunity of looking into the condition of her estates.As has already been explained, both Aymery and Roland had for years past proudly worn the gage of Beatrice, with or without her permission, and not unnaturally this news sent them nearly wild with the desire to follow Sir John as his esquire. To take part in a famous campaign beneath her very eyes would, they felt certain, be a sure means towards gaining her admiration.From the moment this news leaked out their rivalry was fanned to boiling-point, and the quarrels between them became constant. Only Edgar's tact and self-control kept him from embroilment also; for though they knew he was no rival so far as Beatrice was concerned, for he openly scoffed at all such notions, they both feared his swordsmanship, which might defeat their ambitions to follow Sir John to the wars. All indeed that was needed to drag him within the circle of their strife was something which would rouse his antagonism to the pitch at which theirs normally stood. An explosion would then be inevitable. Unfortunately this spark was presently supplied, and the unhappy cause of the mishap was Peter, the armourer's lad.It happened that one day Aymery had set Peter to work to burnish up his armour, which he had carelessly left exposed to the rain after he had been going over it and fondly trying it on on the walls of the keep. Peter went to work willingly enough, but the havoc was so great that by the time he should have returned to the armourer it was only half done. Hastily completing it, in a rough-and-ready fashion, he put it back in the esquires' chamber and went on his way to the forge, intending to finish the work as soon as he was again free. Presently two or three of the pages entered the chamber, and Aymery's armour spread out on the table was the first object to attract their attention. Not knowing or caring to whom it belonged, and ripe for any sort of mischief, they proceeded to amuse themselves by kicking and throwing the pieces about the room.Tiring of the fun, the armour was left lying where it had fallen, and remained there until Aymery and several of the esquires entered."He refuses, Aymery," Roland was saying as they entered. "He saith that the responsibility of looking after one esquire is enough for him, and that the others must seek other opportunity of winning their spurs--at the tourney, I think he meant.""Didst press thy claims to accompany him?" enquired Aymery sourly."They need no pressing," responded Roland haughtily. "And 'tis notthyclaims I fear."Aymery was about to make an angry retort when he noticed the pieces of armour he so highly prized lying about the floor in all parts of the room."Who hath flung my armour here?" he cried, with a sudden burst of wrath. "I will trounce him finely--upon my sword, I swear it--whoever the varlet may be. Was't any of ye?" he ended fiercely, as he glared at the shamefaced pages.The boys looked at one another uneasily, and then one more brazen than the rest replied coolly:"Why dost not look after thy property, Aymery? Where didst leave it? Not with any of us, I'll warrant.""Ah, I recollect! 'Twas with the armourer's boy I left it. Doubtless he still thinketh 'tis only Edgar's bidding he must do. It seemeth I must teach him another well-merited lesson. Bid him come to me at once, Maurice--be off with thee!"The page sped off upon his errand, and the others waited, eyeing Aymery expectantly, for they felt that something more than the chastisement of an unruly youth was in the wind. At any moment Edgar Wintour might come in, for it was nigh upon his time, and none thought that he would see Aymery flog Peter without interfering. The angry esquire spent the minute or two which elapsed before the boy's arrival in examining the pieces of armour strewn about the floor, and the inspection apparently did nothing to improve his temper.Peter had evidently been told what was afoot, for he went straight up to Aymery immediately he entered."You want me, sir," he said quietly."Aye, varlet," cried Aymery, grasping him roughly by the collar, "dost see my armour strewn about the floor? What dost mean by it? I will break every bone in thy body, dog that thou art!" and he gave emphasis to his savage words by shaking Peter with all his strength."I placed them not there," cried Peter, twisting himself free. "I know nothing of it.""Know nothing of it!" cried Aymery, still more incensed. "The work is only half done--dost know nothing of that? Knave, get thee to work at once and do it over again, or I will beat thee so thou canst not stand."Peter hesitated a moment, for the armourer was busy, and was, he knew, awaiting his return with some impatience. Misunderstanding his reluctance to do his behest, Aymery's wrath boiled up and over, and, seizing the boy by the shoulders, he flung him across the table."Come, Roland, aid me administer a sound thrashing to this obstinate varlet. He thinketh 'tis only Wintour's bidding he must do, and hangeth back when we command."Roland was only too ready, and grasped and held Peter while Aymery snatched up a couple of armour buckles and belaboured him with all his strength. There could be no doubt that Aymery was almost beside himself with rage, for the buckles tore away Peter's clothing until they reached and began to score deeply into the bare flesh--and still he went on.At first the lad bore the beating in silence, but as the buckles began to cut into his back he commenced to scream with ever-increasing intensity.It was in the midst of this that Edgar suddenly entered. The screams and the sight of Peter, face downwards on the table and covered with blood, smote him as a blow, and his face blanched in a way that none had ever seen before."Get thee gone, Wintour," cried Aymery recklessly. "This is well-merited punishment, and interfere thou shalt not."For answer, Edgar sprang at the speaker, seized him round the waist, and flung him heavily against the wall. Then he turned fiercely upon Roland; but that worthy shrank back before his pale face and flashing eyes, and, letting go Peter, fled to the wall and tore down a sword.Finding himself free, Peter crawled from the table and dragged himself into the inner room, the door of which Edgar flung open while he faced and kept watch upon his furious comrades. He, too, had snatched a sword from the wall, and he now placed himself squarely in the doorway and waited. The moment Aymery had recovered his balance, he felt at his side and grasped the hilt of his sword. But Duplessis laid firm hand upon his arm and whispered an urgent warning, and Aymery was not so mad but that he was able to realize the dangerous folly of attacking Edgar with sharpened and pointed weapon. Abandoning his first impulse, he followed Roland's example, and, possessing himself of one of the blunted, pointless weapons used in their practices, instantly attacked the figure standing in the doorway of the room in which the cripple lad had taken refuge, standing with ready poise as though prepared to dispute with all present their right to pass unchallenged.The encounter that ensued was so reckless and desperate that none present had seen the like before. Aymery at first seemed too angry to trouble about defending, and hacked at his adversary with a fierce rapidity that gave Edgar little time for other than parrying. In a minute or two, however, he managed to give Aymery so strong a thrust with his pointless weapon against his unjerkined chest that he was compelled to cease pressing in to close quarters and to pay some attention to defence."Smite home, Aymery," cried Roland, thinking his friend was giving back. "Smite home, or let me have my fling at the braggart!"Stung into more reckless activity, Aymery sprang again to the attack, leaving his head for the moment unguarded. Before his own blow had fallen, the flat of Edgar's weapon caught him heavily upon the side of the head, and he fell back against the table, sick and half-fainting. Edgar had scarcely stepped back into position before Roland was savagely attacking him in his turn, secure in the possession of headpiece and jerkin, which he had cautiously donned whilst the fight with Aymery was proceeding."Once thou didst gibe at me for fearing the weight of my comrades' blows," laughed Edgar, as their blades ground together. "Why then this jerkin? Why then this headpiece? Methinks 'tis another that most fears the shock of blows upon skull and body.""Bah!" cried Roland, "if thou thinkest I care for thy blows I will tear them off.""The result will be the same," retorted Edgar. "I care neither way. Look to thy guard, or I vow thy headpiece will help thee little."Though fighting keenly, Edgar kept an eye upon the room as well as upon his adversary. Aymery, he could see, was recovering from the blow he had received, and in a moment might be expected to renew the fight with temper little improved by the sharpness of his punishment. Others of his comrades were whispering together, and he fancied they meditated an attack to overcome his resistance and put an end to the conflict.Thinking it time to rid himself of Roland, for Aymery had given himself a shake and grasped his sword anew, Edgar put into effect a trick he had learned of Gaspard some years before. As their swords grated together he locked his blade in the hilt of his opponent's sword, and, with a sharp wrench, tore the weapon from his grasp. With a shout of pain, for his wrist had been severely twisted, Roland jumped swiftly back out of reach; then, recovering from his surprise, he seized another weapon from the wall and sprang to the attack once more. Aymery was now also attacking, and the two made such an onslaught that Edgar was compelled to fence as he had never fenced before.Suddenly the door opened and Geoffrey Fletcher entered, followed by a couple of men-at-arms."Hold!" he cried. "Hold! Cease this brawling, or ye shall cool your heels in the guardroom."But neither Aymery nor Roland paid any heed to his words; they were too intent upon beating down Edgar's resistance. Roland had already inflicted a severe blow upon his unprotected head, and, dizzy from the effects, Edgar had retired a pace or two into the doorway, where the two blades could play upon him less easily."Men-at-arms, arrest these brawlers!" cried Geoffrey sternly, and striding forward, followed by the two men, he seized Roland roughly by the shoulder and struck down his sword with his own weapon. One of the men-at-arms seized Aymery, and the other approached Edgar, who immediately flung his sword upon the floor, and, folding his arms, looked the man in the face."There, Matthew!" he said, as quietly as his heaving chest would allow, "take it--it has done its work so far. Then come with me and help me to take poor Peter to his bed. He is the innocent cause of all this unhappy mischief."Matthew picked up the weapon and went and looked at Peter, who was supporting himself, half-fainting, against the wall. Then, recalled by the stern voice of Geoffrey, he whispered: "I will return and see to him, or send someone in my place.""Men-at-arms, march the prisoners to the guard-room, and keep them close till Sir John's pleasure is known," commanded Geoffrey; and the esquires, sobered by the recollection of their folly now that the heat of the conflict was evaporating, marched unresistingly out of the chamber down the stairs to the guardroom adjoining the castle gates.CHAPTER VISir John's EsquireThe three esquires were kept closely confined the rest of the day and all night in a cell leading out of the guardroom, watched over by a man-at-arms, to see that there was no renewal of hostilities. The interval gave them time for quiet reflection, and doubtless the first conclusion they came to was that such a fracas was hardly likely to commend any one of them to Sir John Chartris as being a suitable candidate for the position of his personal esquire, especially at a time when he was about to start for Guienne and Gascony accompanied by a portion of his household. It was obvious that he would wish for an esquire who possessed prudence as well as fighting capacity, when at any time it might be necessary to leave him in sole charge of his affairs.To Edgar, at any rate, the thought was torture. Though he could scarcely see how he could have acted otherwise--for the rescue of Peter he never for a moment regretted--he yet felt angry with himself that he had not somehow avoided a collision at a time so critical in his career. However his comrades may have got on, he himself scarcely slept a wink all night.It was nearly midday when a summons came to the prisoners that they were to prepare themselves for an interview with Sir John. Half an hour later Geoffrey appeared, again accompanied by a guard of men-at-arms, and the three esquires were marched across the courtyard to the council chamber of Sir John, high up in the walls of the keep. Curious eyes watched them pass by, for the news that there had been a serious fracas in the esquires' quarters had spread like wildfire through the castle. Some commiseration was expressed at their ill luck in the affair happening whilst Sir John was at the castle, and, consequently, in their having to appear before him, for he was known to be something of a martinet.As they approached the door of Sir John's chamber it opened, and a youth stepped out. It was Peter, the armourer's assistant. Aymery and Roland looked at one another gloomily. His presence hardly augured well for them.The first thing the three young men noticed as they were ushered into the room was that Sir Percy Standish as well as Sir John Chartris was present. Both knights were seated at a table fronting the doorway, and Geoffrey ranged the three esquires facing them, with a man-at-arms on either flank. He then took a seat at Sir Percy's side."What am I to think of my esquires," began Sir John in a stern, upbraiding voice, as he fixed his steel-grey eyes upon each of the young men in turn, "what am I to think of the example they set to my men-at-arms and retainers when they brawl thus amongst themselves? How can I entrust to them the command of soldiers when they have no command over themselves and less knowledge of discipline?""But, Sir John----" began Aymery hotly."Cease, boy!--I will hear no excuses. There can be no excuse for the men I command to fight amongst themselves. Had this breach of discipline occurred in face of the enemy I would surely have sent ye back to your homes--disgraced esquires. Now ye shall spend the rest of the day and night in the guard chamber, to meditate upon my words and your own folly; and for two weeks more the sentinel at the gate will have orders to refuse you exit. Dost understand?"The three esquires murmured assent."Then, Geoffrey, remove the prisoners, and see that my commands are obeyed."The three esquires were marched back to their cell, gloomy and cast down. Sir John's words and the sentence had sounded the death knell of all their hopes of becoming Sir John's esquire and accompanying him to the wars, and Aymery and Roland, at least, felt with bitter certainty that it was their own cruelty and overbearing conduct they had to thank for it. In their distress of mind a truce was patched up between the three esquires, and though Edgar could not yet forget the others' cruelty to poor Peter, and they could not so soon forget their heavy defeat, they tacitly agreed to let the matter rest and to be as friendly as they could.At the end of the fortnight of confinement within the precincts of the castle Sir John sent for Edgar. Wondering what the summons might mean, coming so close upon his disgrace, Edgar made speed to obey."This quarrel of thine," began Sir John abruptly, though in a not unkindly tone; "I have made enquiries, and I am not disposed to make too much of thy mischance. Perhaps, even, I may think that thou didst not altogether ill to break my rules and to defend the lad. Geoffrey hath told me how it came about that thou didst save the lad at peril of thine own life, and doubtless 'twould be too hard to expect thee to hold thy peace when thy comrades were mishandling him."Sir John paused for a moment and looked at him thoughtfully, and Edgar, thinking something required of him, murmured: "Thank you, Sir John.""But how didst come to learn that trick with the sword that hath set thy comrades wondering?" went on the knight in a brisker tone. "I mean that catch of thy weapon that tore Roland's from his grasp?""'Twas learned at Gaspard's, Sir John.""Gaspard's? And who is Gaspard?""He is the founder of a school of arms in London town to which I have been going twice in every week. I thought perhaps Geoffrey had told thee that it was on the return from one of my visits to Gaspard's that I rescued Peter.""Ha, yes! He did mention it, but I paid no heed. Didst not then feel satisfied with Sir Percy's teaching?""Yes, sir; but after a time I thought that I might learn more, and might obtain a knowledge of more varied forms of attack and defence, did I seek other practices.""Thou wert right. 'Tis well not to move in too narrow a circle. I found that out, overlate, in my first battle, and for the lack I paid heavily in blood and pain. However, I learned my lessons in time. But how dost fare at Gaspard's? Art put quite in the shade?""He tells me," replied Edgar slowly, and flushing slightly, "that I am his most promising pupil. Oftentimes he asks me to have a bout with visitors who have heard of his school and who would try how far his instruction extends.""Ha! That sounds vastly to thy credit. And dost win these bouts or dost lose?""I lose sometimes," replied Edgar evasively, wishing the knight would not press the point so far."I must see this Gaspard," said Sir John reflectively. "My sword hath been idle of late, and 'twould not come amiss to practise on his pupils ere I join our forces in Guienne; but, ha! at any rate I can practise on his most promising pupil. Get thy sword, Edgar, and I will test thy prowess for myself.""Nay, sir, I beg thou wilt not; 'twere scarce seemly for esquire----""Ho! ho! Thou fearest to beat me?--or dost fear to be put to the test? Nay, 'tis not the latter; I wrong thee there, I am sure. Well, never mind, lad, I have other matters to think of for the moment. I purpose to make thee my esquire. What dost think of it?"Edgar gave a start for sheer joy."Think of it, Sir John? It is all I could desire in all the world. I will serve thee--I do not say well, but as well as it is in my power to do.""There are other things than fighting and riding to be done, Edgar. Thou mayst have to stay behind when I go campaigning, to look after the ladies and to see to my interests. For this I need a cool head and a devoted heart. Canst fulfil these conditions?""I will try so to do, Sir John.""Very well. I appoint thee my esquire. Every morning thou wilt come to me for thy instructions. In three weeks, if the weather favours our projects, we set sail for Guienne, and in those three weeks we must have furbished up our arms, selected the men-at-arms and archers who are to accompany us, and hied us to the coast."Edgar's joy was so great that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, but at last he managed to stammer out his thanks."Say no more, Edgar. Now go, and see thou keep'st the peace with thy comrades. They will be sorely disappointed, but thou hast earned thy reward and they have not. I am glad 'tis thee, Edgar Wintour, who wilt accompany me, for thy father's sake as well as for thine own. Thou know'st what he did for me? Well, he desired that thou shouldst make thy way by thine own efforts, without help from me, and so far thou hast done so indeed. Now go, and bear thyself generously towards thy less fortunate comrades."The next two weeks were weeks of delight to Edgar. In all that appertained to the expedition to Guienne he became Sir John's lieutenant; and when, some three days before the time came to march for the coast, Sir John was called away to London to consult with the Earl of Derby, Edgar was left in sole charge of the contingent of twenty men and the ladies of the household who were to accompany them.On the day on which it had been arranged for the march to the coast to commence Sir John had not returned. Word soon arrived, however, that he had been detained, and would make the journey direct in the train of the Earl of Derby. Edgar was to set out at once with the Wolsingham men-at-arms and ladies, and was to meet him at Dover.Gaily the company mustered. The men-at-arms were all picked men, well armed, and in the best of spirits at the prospect of the stirring times before them. The ladies were wild with delight at the change from the dull round of their life, spent mainly behind the walls of the castle. The glitter of weapons and the gleam of armour, the bright dresses of the ladies and the glossy coats of the horses, made a pretty picture against the sombre, massive walls of the castle, and Edgar, as he slowly convinced himself that he really was, for the time at any rate, to command this little force, was dazzled at his wonderful good fortune. Looking as unconcerned as he could, however, he bade his comrades and Geoffrey a most cordial farewell, and then gave the word to march. With deafening fanfare of trumpets the cavalcade wound round the courtyard, under the frowning portcullis, and across the drawbridge to the sunny countryside. All seemed to smile in happiness to Edgar as he rode in the rear, his heart bounding with gladness and hope. Could he have looked forward a few months and become aware of the strange vicissitudes and heart-shaking adventures he would have to face in the sunny south of France, it may be that he would have been less glad and a little more thoughtful.

CHAPTER IV

The Winning of Peter

Regularly twice a week Edgar rode into London and waged strenuous warfare with Gaspard's most promising pupils. So earnest was his purpose and so able the tuition that he made rapid progress, and presently, as he grew in strength and stature, Gaspard was hard put to it to find pupils either ready or able to oppose him.

Indeed, Gaspard soon learned to turn the visits of the young esquire to good account. Oftentimes knights, and even nobles, desirous of obtaining a little private practice before setting out for the wars, were attracted to the school by the reputation of its founder; and on these occasions, instead of wielding the sword himself, Gaspard preferred to call Edgar in and set his pupil to work, contenting himself with administering instruction and reproof as the combat proceeded. To being made use of in this manner Edgar raised not the smallest objection. The heavier and the more desperate the encounter, the greater, he felt, was his chance of onward progress.

It was some twelve months after his visit to Gaspard's school that an adventure befell which influenced considerably Edgar's after career. It had been his habit, when he had stayed unusually late, to take a short cut to the open country through the poorer quarter at the eastward end of the city. The denizens of its narrow alleys and filthy courts were indeed a fierce and lawless crew, but Edgar, in the reliance born of his hard-won prowess with the sword, cared not one straw whether or no his way might lie through the haunts even of criminals and desperadoes. Certain it is that they never ventured to molest him.

But one day, as he was cantering along an alley just wide enough to give free passage to a mounted man, he heard, as he passed the entrance to a narrow court, a sudden burst of piercing screams. Turning his steed and clattering into the court, Edgar surprised a group of rough-looking men crowding round a lad or young man who was being most cruelly beaten by one of their number. The lad was thin and frail and half-starved looking, and his assailant was a burly ruffian of the most brutal type. The lad's screams so worked upon Edgar that, without a moment's hesitation, he urged his horse right amongst the group of men, and, by causing it to kick and plunge violently, scattered them in all directions. The lad's tormentor he treated to a heavy blow with the flat of his sword, just as he was disappearing, scowling horribly, through an open doorway close by.

Dismounting, Edgar hastily assisted the lad to rise, and then for the first time saw that he was a cripple. One of his legs was apparently somewhat shorter than the other, and the limb itself was partially withered.

"Come, lad, let me take thee to thy home," said Edgar gently. "These brutes shall molest thee no more."

"Thank you, sir," gasped the boy gratefully, as he tried to struggle to his feet. "But I have no home save this court. I fear, too, that I cannot stand."

"Tell me which is thy house. I will carry thee and lay thee on thy bed."

"This is where I live when he will let me," said the lad, indicating the house into which his assailant had disappeared. "But do not tarry here, sir, or thou wilt be attacked. Quick, I hear them calling to one another, and if thou wouldst escape alive, thou must go at once."

"Nay, lad, I cannot leave thee thus. After the rough shaking I have given them I fear the ruffians will illtreat thee worse than before. Come, I will mount and carry thee out of this den before me."

Springing into the saddle, Edgar stooped and lifted the lad, placing him in the saddle before him. Then, sword in hand, he rode down the court straight to the entrance, where he could see men gathering armed with knives, clubs, and stones. A volley of missiles sang through the air as he approached, and, bending before the storm, Edgar charged full into the enemy. The men scattered as he bore down upon them, some dodging into doorways and others throwing themselves down flat against the walls. But as he passed, knives darted out from this side and that, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Edgar could avoid them. Emerging into the alley he found it thick with men hurrying to the scene. The whole district seemed to have been aroused, and the instant he appeared a howl of execration went up, followed almost instantly by another and heavier volley of stones.

Setting spurs to his horse, Edgar again darted full at the crowd. The men were now too numerous to avoid him, and a dozen were flung headlong to the ground, whilst several more fell back with heads ringing from blows given sharply with the flat of the sword. Though bleeding from several cuts inflicted by the stones, Edgar had almost won through to safety when suddenly, just as he was striking at a man who had tried to hamstring his horse on his right, a ruffian on his left, more determined than his fellows, sprang close up and buried a dagger in the animal's side. The poor beast gave a convulsive spring and then sank to the ground where it lay writhing in agony. As the horse fell beneath him, Edgar took the cripple lad in his arms. It needed but a glance to tell him that his horse was doomed, and his ears told him as surely that his own life was in equal peril did he not make good his escape without an instant's loss of time.

A closed door was by him, and he kicked it open with one foot. Springing in, he closed it after him. The sound of the shrieking horde outside was momentarily deadened, but, as he rushed along the passage to the back of the house, the door flew violently open again, and a wave of sound with a note so fierce and cruel swept in that most men, even in those martial days, would have been completely unnerved.

A door led from the passage into a yard at the back of the house, and through this Edgar sped with his burden as rapidly as he could. The yard was separated from the next by a low wall, and over this he pressed, making for the door at the back of the house opposite to him. This door, however, was fast, and was too strongly made to be readily battered down; so without a moment's hesitation Edgar sprang at the single-shuttered window on the ground floor. Placing the cripple lad down for a moment, he seized a corner of the shutter with both hands, and, exerting all his strength, tore it bodily away. Flinging it to the ground with a clatter, he again lifted the cripple lad, placed him on the sill, and leaped up after him. Not until then did he pause to glance inside the room, but now he saw that it contained four men, who had evidently been drinking and playing at cards when disturbed by the sudden wrenching of the shutter from off its hinges.

They were rough-looking men, and stared fiercely, albeit with some alarm, at the two figures perched upon the window sill.

"Who are ye?" challenged one in a rough and threatening tone. "Speak--what want ye?"

Edgar would have retreated had there been time, but already some of his pursuers were dropping over the low wall behind, shouting in fierce exultation as they saw their prey almost within their grasp. In another moment or two he would have to defend himself in the rear, whilst his front was threatened by these four men, who looked as ripe for mischief as any of the ruffians closing in behind. Desperate measures alone could save him.

Whispering to the cripple to cling to his back and so free both arms, Edgar flung his legs over the sill, sprang into the room, and dashed for the door. Two of the men drew their knives and made as though to stop him, but Edgar, who still carried his sword naked in his hand, instantly attacked them. Two rapid thrusts from his practised hand and the men fell back, shrieking and snarling, leaving him free to pass unmolested through the door and down a passage into another alley on the farther side.

Edgar's exertions in running and climbing, burdened by the cripple lad, had been so great that he felt he must at once find a refuge, even if only a temporary one, or resign himself to selling his life as dearly as he could. Eagerly he glanced up and down the alley. At one end was a blank wall, and at the other were a number of men, who raised a shout the instant they caught sight of him. In front were what appeared to be the backs of a number of solidly-built warehouses, and these, Edgar felt, could and must provide his only refuge.

The lowest windows were too high to be reached, and the doors were unusually strong, doubtless owing to the poverty of the neighbourhood. There was, however, no choice open, so Edgar again put the lad down and turned to the nearest door.

Throughout the flight the cripple lad had not spoken once, but now, noticing perhaps how his rescuer panted, and how their escape seemed as far off as ever, he found his tongue.

"Leave me behind, sir. Thou canst not escape burdened with me. Seek thine own safety. What need for both to perish?"

"I cannot leave thee, lad, once I have taken the task upon me. Fear not; while I still possess a sword I will never lose hope."

As he spoke Edgar drove the blade of his sword through the top panel of the door, tore it out, and again and again drove it back. Then with the hilt he hammered the splintered woodwork inwards with quick sharp blows until a hole gaped the full length and breadth of the panel.

"Now, lad, thine escape at least is assured. Come; I am going to pass thee through this hole." Lifting the lad, Edgar thrust him through the cavity and lowered him gently down. And not one whit too soon, for the advance guard of the men from the end of the alley and those who had followed him through the houses was now upon the scene. Making a sudden rush at the nearest of them, Edgar wounded two and momentarily drove the rest headlong back. Then retreating as suddenly as he had advanced, he sprang to the broken door and swung himself quickly through the gap.

Inside he found himself in a dark passage, between stacks of goods piled to the ceiling. Followed by the cripple, who had awaited his coming, and who could now limp slowly along, he traversed the passage and mounted some steps to what appeared to be the inhabited part of the building. In a minute or two he came to the door of a room, inside which he could hear the sound of laughter and the clink of cups and platters. Here at least seemed hope of succour.

It was indeed high time, for the noise of axes and hammers pounding at the outer door and the yells of the savage mob outside reverberated threateningly along the passage. In a minute or two the remnants of the door must give way and allow them free ingress. Already some of the cut-throats might have ventured singly through the gap and be stealing along in the darkness.

Opening the door without ceremony, Edgar pressed eagerly in, followed by the lad. The sight which met them, fresh from the hurly-burly, seemed strange in its dissimilarity, and almost made them momentarily doubt the reality of what they had gone through. The room was comfortably furnished and brightly lit, and at a large table in its centre sat a merchant, his wife, and several daughters at supper. All rose to their feet, as with a single impulse, as Edgar, panting and blood-streaked, and with a naked and reddened sword in his hand, strode impetuously in.

"Sirrah, what is this?" cried the merchant hastily. "What dost thou in my dwelling?"

"To seek aid. We are fugitives," panted Edgar.

"From the law? Come not to me for succour, but begone!"

"Nay, we flee from bands of thieves and cut-throats. Even now they are doubtless pressing in at thy broken door. Summon aid, for our need is sore."

"What--what is it thou art saying? Bands of cut-throats entering my house! Thou hast led them upon us, and we are ruined. What defence have I against such ruffians?"

Edgar leaned upon his sword and panted. His exertions had been tremendous, but a few moments' breathing space would, he knew, do much to restore him.

"They are stealing along the passage, sir. I hear them," whispered the cripple. "They are fierce and stubborn when once they are roused, and fear the Justice and his men but little. I know them well."

"Come, sir," said Edgar, lifting himself upright. "The cut-throats are even now stealing along yon passage, and----"

Shrill cries of alarm from the merchant's wife and daughters interrupted him, and turning hastily round, Edgar saw that two or three savage-looking figures were even now actually at the door. The merchant snatched a knife from the table, and, though pale and trembling, moved towards the door, as though prepared to defend his womenfolk to the last.

With a sickening shock Edgar realized his responsibility in drawing the ruffians in pursuit of him into the home of a peaceful and innocent merchant. Though he was the one they sought, it was not to be supposed for a moment that the merchant's family would, even though he gave himself up, remain unmolested. Furious with himself, and desperate to defend the innocent from the consequences of his thoughtlessness, Edgar sprang through the doorway upon the ruffians who were gathering there.

His sword rose and fell with the rapidity and unerring precision he had learned in so many hard-fought encounters at Gaspard's school, and in the space of a few seconds three lay wounded upon the ground and the others were in full flight. More men were stealing up behind, but at the screeching of the wounded and the headlong flight of the remainder they too turned and hastily retreated. For some distance Edgar followed them up, and, by sundry thrusts at the hindmost, sent them racing down the stairs to the passage through the warehouse. Here he stopped, for the way was dark, and he could not know but that many might be lurking among the bales, ready to spring out as he passed by, and, by stabbing him in the back, render themselves masters of the merchant's dwelling.

Returning to the door of the room, Edgar beckoned to the merchant, who was engaged in calming the fears of his wife and daughters, to come outside for a moment.

"Canst not fetch aid?"

"How dare I leave my wife and daughters, young sir? At any moment thou mayst be overcome, leaving them at the mercy of these ruffians."

"Nay, if thou wilt give me a lighted lantern fixed upon a short pole, I will, I promise thee, rid thy house of these cut-throats until such time as thou canst bring help. But I cannot fight to advantage in the dark."

"Thou shalt have the lanthorn. See thou keep'st thy promise."

The lantern was brought, and bearing it high up with his left hand, and holding his sword in his right, Edgar returned along the way he had come, searching for any trace of lurking foes. He encountered none until he had nearly reached the broken door, but here he found them gathered in force, and had to make another attack. His determined front and darting sword, however, quickly cowed the men, and after a very short struggle they gave back, and, rushing for the door, fought their way out in absolute panic.

Edgar did not trouble to follow up his advantage, but contented himself with placing his lantern where its light would shine upon the broken door, sitting down himself in a shadow and resting, while he watched and listened.

Half an hour passed away without any change. He could tell his pursuers still lurked outside, but not once did they dare to return to the attack. Then he heard cries of alarm and the sound of rapid footsteps. A moment or two later a face appeared at the broken door, and he recognized the merchant.

"Is all well within?" he called breathlessly.

"All is well," cried Edgar, coming forward.

"God be praised!" cried the merchant in a voice of deep relief. "I have brought an officer and ten men, and at the sight of us the vagabonds made off."

"'Tis well. We are safe from attack now."

"Did the ruffians molest thee?"

"Nay. And now, sir, I must make the best of my way back to my home at Castle Wolsingham without loss of time. But before I go I pray thee forgive me for the alarm I have caused thee and the ladies of thy household. Thou know'st 'twas all done in the heat and extremity of the moment, and wilt excuse my thoughtlessness."

"I cannot regret aught that has gained me the acquaintance of one so gallant," cried the merchant warmly. "Come with me, for I am sure the ladies will desire an opportunity to thank thee for themselves."

The gratitude of the merchant and his wife and daughters, now that their alarm had subsided, was very great, and they united in praising Edgar for what they termed his bravery. But Edgar laughed at them, and would have no such term applied to what he called an afternoon's useful practice with the sword. One destined to the trade of arms, he disclaimed banteringly, must regard such a brush as of no more moment than the merchant's assistants did the measuring of a bale of cloth. But the merchant's daughters would not be denied, and showed their admiration of the young esquire by pressing food and dainties upon him, and by washing and tending the cripple lad, the unhappy cause of all the disturbance.

An offer of the loan of a horse gave Edgar an excuse to be gone and to escape from irksome thanks and embarrassingly bright eyes. So as soon as they had finished tending the cripple lad, whose name they soon found out to be Peter, he bade them all goodbye, and, mounting the steed and taking Peter up behind him, set off for Wolsingham once more.

His strange and exciting adventure had ended in the loss of a horse and the winning of a lad. How the latter was to be provided for, Edgar knew no more than he knew, when he set out in the morning, that he would return saddled with such a dependent. It was all very strange, but his mind was fully made up that he could not readily part with a lad for whom he had risked and ventured so much.

CHAPTER V

The Fracas

It was late when Edgar reached the vicinity of Wolsingham, and, preferring to obtain Geoffrey Fletcher's permission before he brought Peter into the castle, he left him for the night at the farmhouse of one of the tenants on the Wolsingham lands. He then rode on to the castle, and, learning that Geoffrey was still up, made his way to him, and related in detail all that had befallen that eventful afternoon. Geoffrey was concerned at the loss of the horse, but made little of the difficulty of the cripple lad. He could, he said, easily find employment for him among the tenantry if he found it impossible to take him into service within the castle. The latter would depend upon his inspection of the lad on the morrow. He congratulated Edgar warmly upon coming out of so serious a fracas with a whole skin, and strongly advised him, if he were still bent upon continuing his lessons with Gaspard, to choose a more public route until such time as the affair was likely to have been forgotten.

During the homeward journey, Edgar had learned from Peter all that he could tell him of his life and parents. As he had expected, the lad's parents were both dead--his mother but a few months since--and he had only been allowed shelter in the house where his parents had lived by the kindness of one of the women of the place. Her husband, however, was of another mind, and, finding that the boy could give nothing in payment, had turned him out of the house.

Again and again he had stolen back, however, and the man's wrath had increased beyond measure as he found him there time after time, until it ended in the more than usually brutal beating which Edgar was fortunately just in time to prevent becoming something worse. Of relations, Peter had none--that he knew of; and without help, sympathy, or hope he would in all probability, if he had survived and had remained in those evil surroundings, have drifted imperceptibly into evil and vicious courses.

From this Edgar's intervention had saved him, and though as yet he did not realize all that it meant, he was deeply grateful for the timely succour.

On the morrow Edgar took Peter in to Geoffrey, and then and there he was placed in charge of the armourer, who had for some time been wanting a boy to work his bellows. With healthy surroundings, good food, and fair treatment, he soon lost much of his frail and ill-nourished appearance, and but for his infirmity would in time have passed muster with other youths of his rank and station. Indeed, even his infirmity gradually lessened, until at last his limp, though still noticeable, marred his appearance rather than his usefulness.

The recollection of the stirring scenes they had been through together always remained a bond of union between Edgar and Peter the armourer's lad, and the desire to aid and the desire to serve remained with them even after months and years had passed by. If Edgar wanted someone to go on an errand, it was Peter who was only too delighted to go; and if Peter had ever any desire beyond his work, it was always to Edgar that he came for advice or permission. If anything, the bond between them increased with the lapse of time, and it became a recognized thing in the castle that Peter was the special protégé and retainer of Edgar Wintour.

Three or four years passed without any change of note taking place in the affairs of the castle. Then its lord, Sir John Chartris, returned from the wars, and an alteration was made that had a considerable influence in the lives of more than one of its inmates. Sir John had previously paid several visits to his home but had soon departed, for he was constantly campaigning in Flanders, the south of France, or elsewhere. On this occasion he returned alone, for his esquire had recently been knighted, and had left him to take service under another banner.

As soon as the news that the office of personal esquire to Sir John was vacant became known, the excitement and rivalry between Aymery Montacute, Roland Mortimer, Robert Duplessis, Philip Soames, and Edgar became intense. That such a contingency was likely soon to arise had been known for some time, and each of them had nursed within himself the secret hope that he might be the fortunate one and follow his master to the wars. Rivalry had always existed between them, but naturally this increased tenfold at the thought that a selection must soon be made, for Sir John had so far steadily refused to take with him more than one esquire.

In prowess with weapons, both on foot and on horseback, Aymery, Roland, and Edgar were generally considered to be about equal. But this estimate was based on their performances in the castle courtyard and gymnasium, and little account, if any, was taken of the fact that Edgar always wore full armour, and, more even than this, wore his vizor down in those encounters. His comrades, however, had become so used to meeting him in this fashion, and made so little of it beyond a few half good-humoured gibes at his supposed dislike for cuts and bruises, that they overlooked the heavy handicap under which he laboured. Edgar, however, had not forgotten it, and resolved that when a trial was made to qualify one of their number for the coveted position, he would fight unencumbered, in the hopes of being able easily to overcome all his opponents.

The lessons he had learned at Gaspard's, too, would then very largely come into play for the first time. Several of the best strokes he had there learnt and practised he never used at Wolsingham, partly because he did not wish to accentuate the rivalry that already existed by easily worsting his comrades, and partly because he had had from the first a vague idea that a knowledge of new modes of attack or defence, about which they knew nothing, might prove useful to him in the days to come.

Several times the rivalry between him and one or two of his comrades had led perilously near to an open quarrel; but Edgar so far had, by the exercise of tact and a certain amount of forbearance, generally managed to keep the peace. Twice, however, he had had high words with Aymery and Roland over the rough manner in which they had treated Peter when sending him on their errands. Even this had blown over, though it remained an understood thing that if anyone wanted to annoy Edgar it was a safe and sure plan to bully the cripple lad.

A few weeks after Sir John's return home, it leaked out that it was likely that he would take part in an expedition which was being dispatched to Guienne under the leadership of the Earl of Derby. Much was hoped for from this expedition, and it seemed certain that those fortunate ones who took part in it would be in a fair way towards winning much renown. It happened also that the greater part of the lands to which Sir John's ward, Beatrice d'Alençon, was heiress, lay not far from the probable scene of the expedition, and presently the further news transpired that Sir John contemplated taking her with him, accompanied by his elder daughter, Gertrude, with the object of seizing an early opportunity of looking into the condition of her estates.

As has already been explained, both Aymery and Roland had for years past proudly worn the gage of Beatrice, with or without her permission, and not unnaturally this news sent them nearly wild with the desire to follow Sir John as his esquire. To take part in a famous campaign beneath her very eyes would, they felt certain, be a sure means towards gaining her admiration.

From the moment this news leaked out their rivalry was fanned to boiling-point, and the quarrels between them became constant. Only Edgar's tact and self-control kept him from embroilment also; for though they knew he was no rival so far as Beatrice was concerned, for he openly scoffed at all such notions, they both feared his swordsmanship, which might defeat their ambitions to follow Sir John to the wars. All indeed that was needed to drag him within the circle of their strife was something which would rouse his antagonism to the pitch at which theirs normally stood. An explosion would then be inevitable. Unfortunately this spark was presently supplied, and the unhappy cause of the mishap was Peter, the armourer's lad.

It happened that one day Aymery had set Peter to work to burnish up his armour, which he had carelessly left exposed to the rain after he had been going over it and fondly trying it on on the walls of the keep. Peter went to work willingly enough, but the havoc was so great that by the time he should have returned to the armourer it was only half done. Hastily completing it, in a rough-and-ready fashion, he put it back in the esquires' chamber and went on his way to the forge, intending to finish the work as soon as he was again free. Presently two or three of the pages entered the chamber, and Aymery's armour spread out on the table was the first object to attract their attention. Not knowing or caring to whom it belonged, and ripe for any sort of mischief, they proceeded to amuse themselves by kicking and throwing the pieces about the room.

Tiring of the fun, the armour was left lying where it had fallen, and remained there until Aymery and several of the esquires entered.

"He refuses, Aymery," Roland was saying as they entered. "He saith that the responsibility of looking after one esquire is enough for him, and that the others must seek other opportunity of winning their spurs--at the tourney, I think he meant."

"Didst press thy claims to accompany him?" enquired Aymery sourly.

"They need no pressing," responded Roland haughtily. "And 'tis notthyclaims I fear."

Aymery was about to make an angry retort when he noticed the pieces of armour he so highly prized lying about the floor in all parts of the room.

"Who hath flung my armour here?" he cried, with a sudden burst of wrath. "I will trounce him finely--upon my sword, I swear it--whoever the varlet may be. Was't any of ye?" he ended fiercely, as he glared at the shamefaced pages.

The boys looked at one another uneasily, and then one more brazen than the rest replied coolly:

"Why dost not look after thy property, Aymery? Where didst leave it? Not with any of us, I'll warrant."

"Ah, I recollect! 'Twas with the armourer's boy I left it. Doubtless he still thinketh 'tis only Edgar's bidding he must do. It seemeth I must teach him another well-merited lesson. Bid him come to me at once, Maurice--be off with thee!"

The page sped off upon his errand, and the others waited, eyeing Aymery expectantly, for they felt that something more than the chastisement of an unruly youth was in the wind. At any moment Edgar Wintour might come in, for it was nigh upon his time, and none thought that he would see Aymery flog Peter without interfering. The angry esquire spent the minute or two which elapsed before the boy's arrival in examining the pieces of armour strewn about the floor, and the inspection apparently did nothing to improve his temper.

Peter had evidently been told what was afoot, for he went straight up to Aymery immediately he entered.

"You want me, sir," he said quietly.

"Aye, varlet," cried Aymery, grasping him roughly by the collar, "dost see my armour strewn about the floor? What dost mean by it? I will break every bone in thy body, dog that thou art!" and he gave emphasis to his savage words by shaking Peter with all his strength.

"I placed them not there," cried Peter, twisting himself free. "I know nothing of it."

"Know nothing of it!" cried Aymery, still more incensed. "The work is only half done--dost know nothing of that? Knave, get thee to work at once and do it over again, or I will beat thee so thou canst not stand."

Peter hesitated a moment, for the armourer was busy, and was, he knew, awaiting his return with some impatience. Misunderstanding his reluctance to do his behest, Aymery's wrath boiled up and over, and, seizing the boy by the shoulders, he flung him across the table.

"Come, Roland, aid me administer a sound thrashing to this obstinate varlet. He thinketh 'tis only Wintour's bidding he must do, and hangeth back when we command."

Roland was only too ready, and grasped and held Peter while Aymery snatched up a couple of armour buckles and belaboured him with all his strength. There could be no doubt that Aymery was almost beside himself with rage, for the buckles tore away Peter's clothing until they reached and began to score deeply into the bare flesh--and still he went on.

At first the lad bore the beating in silence, but as the buckles began to cut into his back he commenced to scream with ever-increasing intensity.

It was in the midst of this that Edgar suddenly entered. The screams and the sight of Peter, face downwards on the table and covered with blood, smote him as a blow, and his face blanched in a way that none had ever seen before.

"Get thee gone, Wintour," cried Aymery recklessly. "This is well-merited punishment, and interfere thou shalt not."

For answer, Edgar sprang at the speaker, seized him round the waist, and flung him heavily against the wall. Then he turned fiercely upon Roland; but that worthy shrank back before his pale face and flashing eyes, and, letting go Peter, fled to the wall and tore down a sword.

Finding himself free, Peter crawled from the table and dragged himself into the inner room, the door of which Edgar flung open while he faced and kept watch upon his furious comrades. He, too, had snatched a sword from the wall, and he now placed himself squarely in the doorway and waited. The moment Aymery had recovered his balance, he felt at his side and grasped the hilt of his sword. But Duplessis laid firm hand upon his arm and whispered an urgent warning, and Aymery was not so mad but that he was able to realize the dangerous folly of attacking Edgar with sharpened and pointed weapon. Abandoning his first impulse, he followed Roland's example, and, possessing himself of one of the blunted, pointless weapons used in their practices, instantly attacked the figure standing in the doorway of the room in which the cripple lad had taken refuge, standing with ready poise as though prepared to dispute with all present their right to pass unchallenged.

The encounter that ensued was so reckless and desperate that none present had seen the like before. Aymery at first seemed too angry to trouble about defending, and hacked at his adversary with a fierce rapidity that gave Edgar little time for other than parrying. In a minute or two, however, he managed to give Aymery so strong a thrust with his pointless weapon against his unjerkined chest that he was compelled to cease pressing in to close quarters and to pay some attention to defence.

"Smite home, Aymery," cried Roland, thinking his friend was giving back. "Smite home, or let me have my fling at the braggart!"

Stung into more reckless activity, Aymery sprang again to the attack, leaving his head for the moment unguarded. Before his own blow had fallen, the flat of Edgar's weapon caught him heavily upon the side of the head, and he fell back against the table, sick and half-fainting. Edgar had scarcely stepped back into position before Roland was savagely attacking him in his turn, secure in the possession of headpiece and jerkin, which he had cautiously donned whilst the fight with Aymery was proceeding.

"Once thou didst gibe at me for fearing the weight of my comrades' blows," laughed Edgar, as their blades ground together. "Why then this jerkin? Why then this headpiece? Methinks 'tis another that most fears the shock of blows upon skull and body."

"Bah!" cried Roland, "if thou thinkest I care for thy blows I will tear them off."

"The result will be the same," retorted Edgar. "I care neither way. Look to thy guard, or I vow thy headpiece will help thee little."

Though fighting keenly, Edgar kept an eye upon the room as well as upon his adversary. Aymery, he could see, was recovering from the blow he had received, and in a moment might be expected to renew the fight with temper little improved by the sharpness of his punishment. Others of his comrades were whispering together, and he fancied they meditated an attack to overcome his resistance and put an end to the conflict.

Thinking it time to rid himself of Roland, for Aymery had given himself a shake and grasped his sword anew, Edgar put into effect a trick he had learned of Gaspard some years before. As their swords grated together he locked his blade in the hilt of his opponent's sword, and, with a sharp wrench, tore the weapon from his grasp. With a shout of pain, for his wrist had been severely twisted, Roland jumped swiftly back out of reach; then, recovering from his surprise, he seized another weapon from the wall and sprang to the attack once more. Aymery was now also attacking, and the two made such an onslaught that Edgar was compelled to fence as he had never fenced before.

Suddenly the door opened and Geoffrey Fletcher entered, followed by a couple of men-at-arms.

"Hold!" he cried. "Hold! Cease this brawling, or ye shall cool your heels in the guardroom."

But neither Aymery nor Roland paid any heed to his words; they were too intent upon beating down Edgar's resistance. Roland had already inflicted a severe blow upon his unprotected head, and, dizzy from the effects, Edgar had retired a pace or two into the doorway, where the two blades could play upon him less easily.

"Men-at-arms, arrest these brawlers!" cried Geoffrey sternly, and striding forward, followed by the two men, he seized Roland roughly by the shoulder and struck down his sword with his own weapon. One of the men-at-arms seized Aymery, and the other approached Edgar, who immediately flung his sword upon the floor, and, folding his arms, looked the man in the face.

"There, Matthew!" he said, as quietly as his heaving chest would allow, "take it--it has done its work so far. Then come with me and help me to take poor Peter to his bed. He is the innocent cause of all this unhappy mischief."

Matthew picked up the weapon and went and looked at Peter, who was supporting himself, half-fainting, against the wall. Then, recalled by the stern voice of Geoffrey, he whispered: "I will return and see to him, or send someone in my place."

"Men-at-arms, march the prisoners to the guard-room, and keep them close till Sir John's pleasure is known," commanded Geoffrey; and the esquires, sobered by the recollection of their folly now that the heat of the conflict was evaporating, marched unresistingly out of the chamber down the stairs to the guardroom adjoining the castle gates.

CHAPTER VI

Sir John's Esquire

The three esquires were kept closely confined the rest of the day and all night in a cell leading out of the guardroom, watched over by a man-at-arms, to see that there was no renewal of hostilities. The interval gave them time for quiet reflection, and doubtless the first conclusion they came to was that such a fracas was hardly likely to commend any one of them to Sir John Chartris as being a suitable candidate for the position of his personal esquire, especially at a time when he was about to start for Guienne and Gascony accompanied by a portion of his household. It was obvious that he would wish for an esquire who possessed prudence as well as fighting capacity, when at any time it might be necessary to leave him in sole charge of his affairs.

To Edgar, at any rate, the thought was torture. Though he could scarcely see how he could have acted otherwise--for the rescue of Peter he never for a moment regretted--he yet felt angry with himself that he had not somehow avoided a collision at a time so critical in his career. However his comrades may have got on, he himself scarcely slept a wink all night.

It was nearly midday when a summons came to the prisoners that they were to prepare themselves for an interview with Sir John. Half an hour later Geoffrey appeared, again accompanied by a guard of men-at-arms, and the three esquires were marched across the courtyard to the council chamber of Sir John, high up in the walls of the keep. Curious eyes watched them pass by, for the news that there had been a serious fracas in the esquires' quarters had spread like wildfire through the castle. Some commiseration was expressed at their ill luck in the affair happening whilst Sir John was at the castle, and, consequently, in their having to appear before him, for he was known to be something of a martinet.

As they approached the door of Sir John's chamber it opened, and a youth stepped out. It was Peter, the armourer's assistant. Aymery and Roland looked at one another gloomily. His presence hardly augured well for them.

The first thing the three young men noticed as they were ushered into the room was that Sir Percy Standish as well as Sir John Chartris was present. Both knights were seated at a table fronting the doorway, and Geoffrey ranged the three esquires facing them, with a man-at-arms on either flank. He then took a seat at Sir Percy's side.

"What am I to think of my esquires," began Sir John in a stern, upbraiding voice, as he fixed his steel-grey eyes upon each of the young men in turn, "what am I to think of the example they set to my men-at-arms and retainers when they brawl thus amongst themselves? How can I entrust to them the command of soldiers when they have no command over themselves and less knowledge of discipline?"

"But, Sir John----" began Aymery hotly.

"Cease, boy!--I will hear no excuses. There can be no excuse for the men I command to fight amongst themselves. Had this breach of discipline occurred in face of the enemy I would surely have sent ye back to your homes--disgraced esquires. Now ye shall spend the rest of the day and night in the guard chamber, to meditate upon my words and your own folly; and for two weeks more the sentinel at the gate will have orders to refuse you exit. Dost understand?"

The three esquires murmured assent.

"Then, Geoffrey, remove the prisoners, and see that my commands are obeyed."

The three esquires were marched back to their cell, gloomy and cast down. Sir John's words and the sentence had sounded the death knell of all their hopes of becoming Sir John's esquire and accompanying him to the wars, and Aymery and Roland, at least, felt with bitter certainty that it was their own cruelty and overbearing conduct they had to thank for it. In their distress of mind a truce was patched up between the three esquires, and though Edgar could not yet forget the others' cruelty to poor Peter, and they could not so soon forget their heavy defeat, they tacitly agreed to let the matter rest and to be as friendly as they could.

At the end of the fortnight of confinement within the precincts of the castle Sir John sent for Edgar. Wondering what the summons might mean, coming so close upon his disgrace, Edgar made speed to obey.

"This quarrel of thine," began Sir John abruptly, though in a not unkindly tone; "I have made enquiries, and I am not disposed to make too much of thy mischance. Perhaps, even, I may think that thou didst not altogether ill to break my rules and to defend the lad. Geoffrey hath told me how it came about that thou didst save the lad at peril of thine own life, and doubtless 'twould be too hard to expect thee to hold thy peace when thy comrades were mishandling him."

Sir John paused for a moment and looked at him thoughtfully, and Edgar, thinking something required of him, murmured: "Thank you, Sir John."

"But how didst come to learn that trick with the sword that hath set thy comrades wondering?" went on the knight in a brisker tone. "I mean that catch of thy weapon that tore Roland's from his grasp?"

"'Twas learned at Gaspard's, Sir John."

"Gaspard's? And who is Gaspard?"

"He is the founder of a school of arms in London town to which I have been going twice in every week. I thought perhaps Geoffrey had told thee that it was on the return from one of my visits to Gaspard's that I rescued Peter."

"Ha, yes! He did mention it, but I paid no heed. Didst not then feel satisfied with Sir Percy's teaching?"

"Yes, sir; but after a time I thought that I might learn more, and might obtain a knowledge of more varied forms of attack and defence, did I seek other practices."

"Thou wert right. 'Tis well not to move in too narrow a circle. I found that out, overlate, in my first battle, and for the lack I paid heavily in blood and pain. However, I learned my lessons in time. But how dost fare at Gaspard's? Art put quite in the shade?"

"He tells me," replied Edgar slowly, and flushing slightly, "that I am his most promising pupil. Oftentimes he asks me to have a bout with visitors who have heard of his school and who would try how far his instruction extends."

"Ha! That sounds vastly to thy credit. And dost win these bouts or dost lose?"

"I lose sometimes," replied Edgar evasively, wishing the knight would not press the point so far.

"I must see this Gaspard," said Sir John reflectively. "My sword hath been idle of late, and 'twould not come amiss to practise on his pupils ere I join our forces in Guienne; but, ha! at any rate I can practise on his most promising pupil. Get thy sword, Edgar, and I will test thy prowess for myself."

"Nay, sir, I beg thou wilt not; 'twere scarce seemly for esquire----"

"Ho! ho! Thou fearest to beat me?--or dost fear to be put to the test? Nay, 'tis not the latter; I wrong thee there, I am sure. Well, never mind, lad, I have other matters to think of for the moment. I purpose to make thee my esquire. What dost think of it?"

Edgar gave a start for sheer joy.

"Think of it, Sir John? It is all I could desire in all the world. I will serve thee--I do not say well, but as well as it is in my power to do."

"There are other things than fighting and riding to be done, Edgar. Thou mayst have to stay behind when I go campaigning, to look after the ladies and to see to my interests. For this I need a cool head and a devoted heart. Canst fulfil these conditions?"

"I will try so to do, Sir John."

"Very well. I appoint thee my esquire. Every morning thou wilt come to me for thy instructions. In three weeks, if the weather favours our projects, we set sail for Guienne, and in those three weeks we must have furbished up our arms, selected the men-at-arms and archers who are to accompany us, and hied us to the coast."

Edgar's joy was so great that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, but at last he managed to stammer out his thanks.

"Say no more, Edgar. Now go, and see thou keep'st the peace with thy comrades. They will be sorely disappointed, but thou hast earned thy reward and they have not. I am glad 'tis thee, Edgar Wintour, who wilt accompany me, for thy father's sake as well as for thine own. Thou know'st what he did for me? Well, he desired that thou shouldst make thy way by thine own efforts, without help from me, and so far thou hast done so indeed. Now go, and bear thyself generously towards thy less fortunate comrades."

The next two weeks were weeks of delight to Edgar. In all that appertained to the expedition to Guienne he became Sir John's lieutenant; and when, some three days before the time came to march for the coast, Sir John was called away to London to consult with the Earl of Derby, Edgar was left in sole charge of the contingent of twenty men and the ladies of the household who were to accompany them.

On the day on which it had been arranged for the march to the coast to commence Sir John had not returned. Word soon arrived, however, that he had been detained, and would make the journey direct in the train of the Earl of Derby. Edgar was to set out at once with the Wolsingham men-at-arms and ladies, and was to meet him at Dover.

Gaily the company mustered. The men-at-arms were all picked men, well armed, and in the best of spirits at the prospect of the stirring times before them. The ladies were wild with delight at the change from the dull round of their life, spent mainly behind the walls of the castle. The glitter of weapons and the gleam of armour, the bright dresses of the ladies and the glossy coats of the horses, made a pretty picture against the sombre, massive walls of the castle, and Edgar, as he slowly convinced himself that he really was, for the time at any rate, to command this little force, was dazzled at his wonderful good fortune. Looking as unconcerned as he could, however, he bade his comrades and Geoffrey a most cordial farewell, and then gave the word to march. With deafening fanfare of trumpets the cavalcade wound round the courtyard, under the frowning portcullis, and across the drawbridge to the sunny countryside. All seemed to smile in happiness to Edgar as he rode in the rear, his heart bounding with gladness and hope. Could he have looked forward a few months and become aware of the strange vicissitudes and heart-shaking adventures he would have to face in the sunny south of France, it may be that he would have been less glad and a little more thoughtful.

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